On The Bus
by FanWriterWV
Summary: Classic series based. One man dicovers that some legends are best left alone.


Matthew Spence

_**ON THE BUS**_

_Introduction: Meet Christopher Dolby, a young man for whom some legends hold a particular fascination. What Mr. Dolby has yet to realize, however, is that the search for some legends can come with a heavy price…especially in the Twilight Zone._

Chris saw the light of the bus's headlights before he saw the bus itself. That was supposed to be a bad sign, from all the stories he'd heard. Some of the other pedestrians were already hurrying to leave before it showed up. There were rumors about how those who'd been unfortunate enough to lag behind had been snatched up by the bus as it made its way through neighborhoods like this one, never to be seen again. Chris had never paid that much attention to such stories. What he did know, and what he hoped to avoid experiencing, was that people who did dare to climb aboard the bus were often gone for years if not decades. That was the part he planned on avoiding.

Of course, his friends and family had told him that he was a crazy fool for even thinking about trying such a thing. The bus had appeared in a number of forms down through the centuries. Previous eras had known it as the Flying Dutchman; a stagecoach, a ghostly trolley car. The prize for surviving its ride was a form of immortality; but the cost was coming back to a world where those you had known had been dead for generations.

"You get on that thing, you could never be seen again, don't you know that?" his grandfather had once told him. "Do you know what that would do to your mother?"

"I'd be careful," Chris had insisted.

"That's what they all say. Take it from me; I saw it happen once. A guy I knew, when I wasn't much older than you, said he'd ride the Bus. He went out to that stop and never came back."

"I'll come back. And it won't be a hundred years later, either-you'll see."

"Sure you will," the old man said. "Sure you will…"

Chris heard the deep growl of the bus's engine and looked up at the end of the street in anticipation. The bus came out of the shadows as if searching for something. At first it looked normal, but as it came closer Chris could see that its windows were fogged over with what looked like black mist. The bus let out a low groan as it pulled up to the curb. Its doors slid open with a sigh that sounded like a thousand lost souls crying out for relief.

As he climbed up its grimy steps, Chris wondered how long the bus had been traveling in this form. The legends said that it had appeared in various cities around the world, and only at certain times of the year, when it was required to pick up its cargo of the damned. Chris was determined not to become one of them, however. He'd read what literature he could find, listened to all the stories. He was going to get his share of the prize; not wind up one of the bus's passengers.

So, here he was. Chris kept reminding himself that he wasn't going to be here permanently, but he couldn't help but feel a twinge of dread as he dropped his change into the drivers' meter. The driver's face was hidden underneath his cap and jacket, but Chris could see that his hands were thin, bony and the color of white chalk. Chris heard the doors slide shut behind him and felt the bus lurch as he looked for a place to sit down. His hand touched the guardrail. It felt sticky, like dried blood. Chris looked down the aisle. There were two rows of seats on either side. They were dull gray, and looked like tombstones in the dim light. The lights of passing buildings and other traffic rippled past the bus's windows like ghosts as Chris studied the bus's other passengers.

There were only five of them. Chris glanced at two of them, a man and a woman, as he sat down across the aisle. They looked young, but their faces were drained of life. Their eyes were dull and lifeless as they stared into space. The woman was wearing clothing from the mid-Seventies, but the man was wearing an old-fashioned pinstriped suit and a fedora that made him look as if he'd stepped right out of a 1940's movie. It's true, Chris thought. They haven't aged. But they also gave in and accepted their fate long ago. That's it, then. That's the price for staying…

The other three passengers sat towards the rear of the bus. One of them looked like an Eighties Yuppie, his briefcase at his side. The other one looked like a 1950's housewife. But it was the third passenger who caught Chris's attention. She was wearing clothing from the late nineteenth century, and was the only one whose expression wasn't as dull and lifeless as the others' were. She looked as if she was still waiting for something. As Chris looked at her, he saw her eyelashes flicker as if she was coming out of a deep trance. She didn't look directly at him, but Chris knew that she had seen him anyway. As he watched, her hands and lips began moving.

She's trying to tell me something, realized. Did she find a way to escape the others' fate? Is she still waiting for a chance to claim her share of the prize, like I am?

Then she began to speak in a low voice, as if to herself. But Chris knew that she was really talking to him.

"I was in New York City, in 1901," she said. "It was not long after President McKinley was killed. I had felt something die in me on that day, and I just wanted to leave the world behind. I'd heard about the new Flying Dutchman. I knew the risk, but I waited until it came, and then I got on board. I stayed as it and the world changed around me. I wasn't married and had no close family. This was my choice. I'm going to leave someday, but not before the others learn how and leave before me. So, I'll wait. Others have come and gone before me. Some stay, but some go back. It is not their time or fate."

None of the others said anything. They did, however, show slight reactions, indicating that they had heard her words-and understood them, as well. It wasn't their time to leave yet. They were still waiting.

So that's it, Chris thought. If I stayed, would I become like them-with only her to keep me connected to the world I'd left behind? Is the loss of that connection the ultimate price?

Chris knew that neither he nor the woman could do anything for them. The driver up front had given no indication that he had heard any of this, or if he did, he didn't seem to care. He's not expecting any of them to escape-not even her, Chris thought. But she knows something that he doesn't. She knows that they're not dead yet.

And neither was he. Chris wanted to say something to the woman, but she was looking straight ahead again, lost in her own private battle against the entropy that had dragged the others down. Chris made his way to the front of the bus. There was a brake cord running overhead. Chris reached for it. It felt tender and unused in his hand. Then he pulled it.

Everything seemed to stop. The driver turned around in his seat, showing Chris his face for the first time. Except that it wasn't a face that Chris saw-only a grinning, bare skull. Chris felt his blood freeze as he looked at it. The driver then raised his hand and pointed one of his thin fingers at the doors. They slid open with an almost angry hiss. Chris got the message. He nodded as he got up from his seat and climbed down from the bus. He didn't look back as it closed its doors. Then he heard it moan as it drove off. Chris turned to look then, but it was already gone. Only the empty street remained behind, and Chris saw without much surprise that he had ended up right where he started from.

Chris walked away from the bus stop, towards the lights that would lead him home.

_Closing narration: "For centuries there have been legends of the Flying Dutchman, which was doomed to sail the seas for eternity. Christopher Dolby has had his encounter with one version of this legend and survived his journey into…the Twilight Zone."_

THE END


End file.
